


The Golden Rule

by levviewrites909



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morning After, Multi, comedy???, yeah i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levviewrites909/pseuds/levviewrites909
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sirs decide to get drunk in Vegas... And let’s just say they aren’t exactly happy about how they woke up the next morning</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Rule

“Ah… Our last night in Vegas,” Ross sighed, taking a sip of his beer. He leaned back on the bar counter, looking over at Smith who stood in a similar manner. The bar was more packed with people than last time. Sweaty bodies crowded the bar and the dancefloor, grinding up on each other and “dancing” to the incredibly loud music.

They decided they should probably enjoy their last night, and nobody was really against going to the bar again. Their flight would take off late tomorrow night, and they figured that they could always sleep their exhaustion off during the long trip back to Bristol.

“Are you happy we are leaving? I’ve had a great time,” Smith muttered, taking a sip of what Ross was pretty sure was his fifth drink of the night.

“Couldn’t hear you mate,” Ross called back, raising his voice over the music and speaking close to Smith’s ear.

Smith groaned, repeating his words louder. “ARE YOU HAPPY WE ARE LEAVING? I’VE HAD A GREAT TIME!”

Ross rolled his eyes. “Yeah, so have I, but I miss home, ya know? Tired of sleeping in that fucking car and different hotels. I just wanna be in my own bed.”

Smith nodded. “Yeah, I get that.” He downed the rest of his drink, slamming his glass down behind him. “Fuck, I’m drunk.”

“Yeah I know,” Ross scoffed. “You’re slurring your words more than usual.”

The redhead narrowed his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. Let me be the loveable drunk, alright?”

“Nobody loves a salty alcoholic,” Ross murmured, taking another sip. Giggles bubbled over his lips when Smith shoved over at him playfully.

“Yeah, whatever,” Smith grumbled. “I’m gonna go rip Trott away from whoever he’s grinding on, we should probably head back soon.”

“Alright, have fun. Don’t bring home any pretty girls.”

“Oi! I have class,” Smith scoffed. “I’d rather bring home some pretty guy, if you know what I mean.” He wiggled his eyebrows, swinging his arm over Ross’ shoulder and pushing himself up against him. “Oh look! I’ve found one.”

“Yup, confirmed drunk,” Ross shook his head, shoving at Smith. “Get off me, you twat! Go find Trott!”

The redhead laughed. “Alright, alright.” He turned towards the crowd of people dancing to the much too loud music. “Fuck, Ross, I might not make it!” He called back towards the dark-haired man, smirk hanging on his lips.

“Just fucking go,” Ross yelled back over the loud music. “I wanna go back to the hotel.”

With that, Smith disappeared into the crowd. Ross sighed, glancing down at his drink that was almost empty. He didn’t think he had as much as Smith, but at this point he was pretty drunk and he was seriously questioning that. At least he hadn’t had as much as Trott.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he was almost surprised. He didn’t think he would feel it with the base practically making the whole building shake, and yet he did. Or maybe it was just a cell phone user’s intuition.

He pulled it from his pocket, his eyes taking awhile to actually read and understand the words that were there. The white text was slightly blurry at first, but he was eventually able to make the text message out.

_From Alex Smith:_

_wer otsiued m9_

Of course if he wasn’t drunk, he wouldn’t have realized how terrible hammered Smith was as he typed this message. In his drunken-state though, it seemed pretty normal, and he sighed as he slipped his phone into his pocket and made his way outside the bar.

~~~

The breeze that hit his face upon stepping out of the bar was slightly surprising. It made his breath hitch, but all in all he was happy to be out of the stuffy atmosphere. Right outside, he could still hear the music blasting inside, although it was very muffled through the thick brick walls.

He sighed happily, taking a step to the edge of the street so that he could peek down the waiting line. It was still absolutely packed with people, most of them dressed in somewhat nice clothes and much too eager to buy overpriced alcohol.

Ross glanced to his left, expecting to see Trott and Smith. He was surprised when he didn’t seem them anywhere, only two figures a bit farther down the wall making out against the brick wall.

He rolled his eyes, stepping backwards until his back hit the brick wall of the bar. He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and somehow finding Smith’s number. He quickly dialed, and it was immediately answered.

“Hullo?” Smith’s voice was a slur, and Ross wondered how he seemed to sound even drunker than he had ten minutes previously. That last drink really must’ve pushed him over the edge.

“Where are you guys? I’m outside.”

“Oh.” This was followed from a bunch of drunken giggles, and Ross could make out Trott’s along with it.

“The fuck are you both laughing about?”

“We’re snogging down the street aways,” Smith giggled.

Ross’ eyes widened, as his head slowly turned towards the figures he saw before. They were no longer kissing, now just laughing very close to each other. He rolled his eyes as he stepped closer, being able to make out Smith’s jacket and shoes.

“What the fuck are you guys doing,” he yelled as he approached them, his shoes thudding on the sidewalk.

“Kissing, duh,” Trott laughed, stepping away from Smith and closer to Ross. “Ain’t it obvious, mate?”

“Well yeah, but,” Ross’ brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Let’s just say I’m stiff for Smith, and he’s hot for Trott,” the brunet shrugged. “It also just so happens that we are both horny for hornby.”

Ross’ mind struggled to process his words, and yet being intoxicated made it a lot easier to understand what he was implying, and also a lot easier to reach forward and pull Trott into a kiss.

~~~

“Fuck.”

Ross’ eyes shot open, his head immediately bombarded by the bright light that shined through the window. He brought his hand up to rub his eyes, groaning upon noticing how uncomfortable and sticky he felt.

He sat up quickly, looking down at the sheets that covered his bare legs.  His skin scraped along the soft cloth, then over something that felt crusty and cold and made him wince. It took a moment for his mind to catch up with him, to remember the night previous and to throw him into a pool of regret.

He looked over, spotting Trott’s sleeping body face down on the bed. HIs face was pushed into the pillow, and his cheek was squished up slightly from the awkward position. Both of his hands were sprawled on either side of him. He didn’t look like he would wake up anytime soon.

Smith sat on the other edge of the bed, his bare back facing Ross. He had his face in his hands, looking to be processing things. Bruises and bite marks littered his shoulder and hips, and Ross blushed as he realized those marks were possibly made by himself.

“Smith,” he asked, his voice louder than expected. Immediately he regretted it, the dregs of hangover still in his brain and making every loud noise painful.

The redhead glanced back, looking slightly irritated and embarrassed. He looked to be still naked, and immediately dropped his hands into his lap.

“Good morning, Ross,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Looks like we were drunk, huh?”

Ross licked his lips and nodded. He glanced down at Trott’s sleeping form, before looking back up at Smith. “You got a little,” he paused, gesturing towards his own neck then pointing to Smith.

“Yeah, I know. So do you, mate… What a way to return home…”

“What the fuck happened,” Ross asked.

“Is it not obvious,” Smith questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I meant, like what  _exactly_  happened,” Ross huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Stop being so fucking salty.”

The redhead scoffed. “Alright. Sorry for being a bit upset about last night…” He paused, swinging his legs back onto the mattress and quickly covering himself with the sheets. He leaned back into the pillows. “I think… you fucked me? I’m not sure, but- my ass fucking hurts. Then probably a couple Chris Trott blowies… I dunno I can’t remember shit. I don’t think we used much protection though- so you twats better be clean.”

Ross laughed. “Don’t worry, mate. I am. Trotty on the other hand- well, we can never be sure. Probably has lice.”

Smith smiled, chuckling lightly.  “Fuck- I need some water. Want one?”

Ross nodded. “Yeah, got a killer headache.”

“Same. And I think we both drank less than Trott. The poor bastard’s gonna have a fun time with this.” The redhead slowly pulled himself off the bed, obviously sore as he stood up.

Ross gulped, allowing his gaze to trail down his back and his ass. There were bruises on his hips and thighs, ones that Ross figured he was responsible for.

“Oi! Stop staring,” Smith yelped, walking across the room and bending down to grab his boxers. “I dunno whose these are, but I don’t really care.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Ross huffed. “And I’ll stare all I want, mate. We already fucked, what difference does it make.”

“Rather not repeat it,” Smith mumbled, slipping the blue boxers on. “Yeah, these are yours.”

Ross laughed. “You look good in them.”

Smith narrowed his eyes as he looked back at him. “Please, don’t try to be gay right now.”

“A little too late for that, mate,” Ross giggled. “You are  _quite_  the bottom.”

The redhead rolled his eyes. “It’s not gay if it’s a threeway.”

Ross raised an eyebrow. “Mate, I’m pretty sure the golden rule doesn’t apply to us. Trott isn’t exactly a ‘honey in the middle’.”

“Don’t even-” He was interrupted by a low grumpy groan from Trott.

The brunet pushed himself up on his arms, turning himself over. His eyes widened when he met Ross’, and when he glanced back at Smith.

“Da fuck happened,” he murmured, his voice still slurred.

“Smith got the fucking of his lifetime mate,” Ross chuckled. “Smith, pass me a water?”

The redhead nodded, padding over to the small fridge in their hotel. He grabbed three, tossing one back to Ross.

Luckily he caught it, opening it and handing it to Trott. “You’re gonna have a terrible headache, mate.”

The brunet made incoherent noises of disapproval as he brought the water to his lips, taking a couple gulps silently before actually speaking.

“We fucked?”

“Yup,” Ross nodded, pushing himself off the bed. “Smith I need my boxers.”

“Wear mine or get another pair,” the redhead muttered, draping himself out on the other bed that sat on the opposite wall of the room.

“They’re probably all crusty,” Ross mumbled, making a face as he walked over towards his suitcase that was still propped up by the door.

“So are we like gay now?”

“Who the fuck cares,” Trott grumbled. “Would you stop being so fucking loud?”

“Sorry, mate,” Smith chuckled. “Just couldn’t help but notice how much like a fanfiction this is.”

“Don’t even, Smith.”


End file.
